Needing to visit not one but two different doctor’s offices this morning, I found myself with a little extra time following the first appointment. Not wanting to twiddle my thumbs in another physician’s waiting room, I determined that Powell’s books was roughly on my way to my second appointment and promptly set a course for the “city of books.”
Not seeking anything in particular, I allowed myself to do one of the things at which I excel above others – wander aimlessly along aisles of books. Thus it was while wandering through the natural history related aisles that I discovered a collection of the writings of William Beebe that must have recently been purchased by Powell’s used book buyers. There on the shelf before me were not one but five different titles, all in cloth covers, all superbly illustrated as only old books can be. Cautious about picking one up for fear of stopping my heart at the sight of the price, I nearly fainted instead, “$4.95.”
Stunned but still conscious enough to flip gently through the pages to discover the reason for the astonishingly low price – perhaps pages and pages of purple crayon “enhancements” or remnants of a schnauzer having vomited at the opening of the third chapter. Remarkably, I found no damage of any sort – the book, Jungle Days, was actually in fine shape, including its vividly colored end papers. It seems that the only reason for the absurdly low price was the simple fact that it was an old book by an author who, sad to say, too many people simply no longer recognize by name.
Examining the other Beebe titles present, I found them all to be in fine condition, possessed of considerable individual character, and each priced below $10.00. Not wanting to be greedy, I only picked up three to purchase and walked onward down the aisle.
Not far from the great Beebe discovery, I noted another old book, this one still possessing its original dust jacket and carefully wrapped in a glassine protective cover. “Where Winter Never Comes” read the spine, “Marston Bates.“ I have not previously read any of Dr. Bates writings; however I was aware of his importance in the development of the study of ecology, a subject in which I have become increasingly interested over the past few months. Surely a book so well preserved and carefully wrapped for its protection would carry a more substantial price. $10.00; into the basket it went.
Justifiably assuming I had exhausted my good book karma, I thought it time to direct my steps toward the cashier, by way of the ornithology section of course. There, right at eye level, sat a copy of Joseph Hickey’s famous A Guide to Bird Watching, a book upon which I had placed two bids at the AOU convention in Portland not long past one month ago – and lost. Not only is the book reported to be a veritable gold mine of excellent observations as well as witty remarks on the subject of bird watching, it is also said to be his master’s thesis (ponder that all you who, like me, have penned one of these tomes).
Did I dare check the price? Indeed I did. $3.95. Hadn’t the used book buyer known the provenance of this book? I wasn’t sure whether to be offended at the slight to Hickey’s importance in the history of bird watching or grateful for the used book buyer’s ignorance of it. I chose the latter and scurried (in as much as a 250 pound man can scurry) toward the cashier.
In truth, despite being overjoyed at the acquisition of five superb titles for under $30.00, I was a bit melancholy. The bargain basement pricing of these books was a sign of the perceived value in the retail book market. Too few people know the names of Beebe, Bates, or Hickey today – even people deeply involved in activities to which the writings of these authors were exceedingly influential. It is a dearth of awareness that all of us with an interest in the history of our shared passions must continually remind ourselves to remedy lest wonderful old tomes, such as these I found today, find themselves relegated to the final fate of unsalable old books – the paper shredder.
Peace and good bird watching.
